


and the world seemed so frightfully vivid

by Feyre



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I guess? I'm horrible at writing fluff..., M/M, performing arts conservatory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8829550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feyre/pseuds/Feyre
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki, for all his lavishly expressed hate for the piano, has never been able to pull away from music. It draws him like a moth to flames, and is perhaps a testament to the Katsuki blood that runs in his veins.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shigatsu wa Kimi no Uso-esque fic that really has no correlation to the series I just adapted Kousei's history a little

He falls in love with silver notes that ring like summer chimes, a reminder of white clouds against blue skies; notes that sing like the melancholia that comes with rainy Sunday mornings and the slow glide of leaves that fall from trees.

 

The melody rings out from the violin with each smooth bow stroke: confident, gracious in its usage, ephemeral in tone. Yuuri Katsuki recognises the piece from the very first note: a long, vibrating D that sings of hope and dreams. The Barber Violin Concerto is a familiar comfort to his ears. He knows each note by heart, each refrain, the harmony that flourishes and echoes the theme in the elongated silence of the melody. The soloist’s accompaniment comes in the form of a full symphony, the flick of the conductor’s wrist dictating the crescendos and decrescendos of the piece, but Yuuri is more than familiar with the pianist rendition of the accompaniment. It is infinitely more delicate and perhaps not as grand, but he thinks it makes for a more apt interpretation of Samuel Barber’s composition that is played all too rarely. His fingers idly press notes in time with the performance on stage against the wooden armrest of the theatre’s chair. Although it has been years since he’s touched a piano, the movements still come to him like a second nature, a tendency drilled into him from the moment he could walk. It takes him a few moments before he realises his habit, and Yuuri hastily draws his hands into his lap. He buries them into the scarf that is too warm to wear in the tightly packed concert hall.

 

He may have fallen in love with the notes that sing from the violin on stage, but perhaps it is the performer that he’s enchanted by. Yuuri finds himself enamoured by the silver-haired soloist: his elaborate outfit of gold against purple and white drawing nearly as much attention as his own concerto performance. It is a picture perfect image of poise and cold elegance that juxtaposes the warm tones of the violin, and Yuuri almost wishes he was on stage as well.

 

Once upon a time, that could have been him.

 

Yuuko catches a glimpse of Yuuri’s starstruck gaze, and she shifts her head that had been resting on Takeshi’s shoulder to tease the younger boy. “ _That_ is Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuko whispers, and Yuuri can smell the sweet perfume that graces her presence, hear the lilt of a smile in her voice without seeing her face in the dark concert hall. “What do you think? He’s as great as they say, isn’t he?” There is a smothered excitement that accompanies her questions - hopeful, almost.

 

The trance that Yuuri has found himself lulled into shatters.

 

“He’s okay,” Yuuri mutters back without conviction, and he turns his gaze away to study the accompanying orchestra with renewed interest. He watches the fingering of the clarinetist, the rising chests of flutists and the sharp bow strokes of the cellists, then upwards to the glittering lights of the building, the sold out seats of the concert hall that has translated to a full house. Anywhere and everywhere but on Victor himself.

 

They both know that it’s a lie. Yuuri Katsuki, for all his lavishly expressed hate for the piano, has never been able to pull away from music. It draws him like a moth to flames, and is perhaps a testament to the Katsuki blood that runs in his veins. Although he has made good on his promise from a couple years back to never touch the piano again, he finds himself unable to completely cut himself off from what had played an integral role in his life. And of course, he’s listened to enough performances, drafted enough compositions, has played enough _himself_ to recognise the line that divides the good and the truly _brilliant_. Victor is much more than a simple _“okay”_.

 

The name Victor Nikiforov is whispered next revered names of the likes of _Itzhak Perlman, Hilary Hahn_ , and _Sarah Chang_ , an impressive feat despite the Russian’s young age. Yuuri is thoroughly familiar with the name of the man, the rising prodigy within the world of classical music and performing arts. While the Japanese refuses to touch another piano, he remains privy to the rumours that float through the halls of the music conservatory. The concert cements those whispers, and the dark-haired boy can easily understand the obsessive murmurs of his classmates at the performing arts conservatory he attends.

 

Certainly, Victor Nikiforov is equally exquisite in both looks and skills and the piece draws painful chords in Yuuri’s heart.

 

But he does not aid in helping the Nishigori couple achieve their intended goal for the night.

 

The dark-haired boy heaves a sigh and closes his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you really can’t convince me to play again, Yuuko. So stop trying.” His fingers clenches his scarf tightly, as if doing so will rid him of his anxiety and unfavourable memories. He knows perfectly well what the married couple was trying to achieve. He also knows that it won’t work, will never work. Playing the piano is something he never wants to do again.

 

Yuuri’s voice is tired and defeated, and his tone elicits a frown that graces Yuuko’s pretty features. She glances dejectedly at Takeshi, as if half hoping that the older man would chime in to defend her cause. Her husband only shrugs, face set in an impassive neutrality that she’s come to know so well. “He’ll come around when he’s ready,” he placates his wife, taking her hand in his and intertwining their fingers. He gives a small, reassuring squeeze. “It’s Yuuri, after all. He’s strong.”

 

But they both look to their younger friend, and it is difficult to ignore the fragility of his shoulders, the trembling hands that are hidden beneath the soft fluff of his scarf, the downturn set of his lips that once upon a time could only be seen every blue moon but is now a constant companion.

 

And they worry.

**Author's Note:**

> hello, it's mei, your resident classical music enthusiast. 
> 
> [Itzhak Perlman's Barber's Violin Concerto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2cvmCswVxcQ) and [Hilarly Hahn's rendition](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6J9LIakI20&list=PL7mH8aHj5O5Uqr2gqFSGzuTIjVYFub8mn) are both equally beautiful; Itzhak's is much more warmer in tone and colour, while Hilary's is more brilliant. If you're curious, please do listen!
> 
> The title is a Work In Progress. Please forgive, I'm v bad at titling :<
> 
> I haven't written anything for a while, so I'm a little nervous about posting this. I hope you enjoyed it; kudo/comment if you feel inclined to~
> 
> You can also find me @torikagos on either twitter or tumblr so come say hi!!


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